Page 18 of Misconduct Zone

My sponsor is unflappable and hard to shock. If I told her I went on a coke bender, she would ask me to go to rehab and start planning for my recovery before the drugs left my system. But when I mentioned I think I might not be straight, she was speechless.

I’m not old, but I’ve been around gay and bi people so I assumed I would know if those labels applied to me. Maybe it’s the label that I’m unsure about.

Men’s bodies have always caught my attention. As an athlete, I thought I was comparing myself or curious about what non-muscular men looked like. Maybe I fooled myself because I didn’t want to put a label on it.

I am wildly attracted to Lars, and I’m not afraid because he’s a man, I’m afraid because he’s my friend and teammate and he might not consider me a worthy partner. Another possibility—I’m projecting my desires onto him, which could ruin our friendship. If I lost him as a support system, my world would collapse.

It’s absolutely not worth the risk of telling him my feelings. Especially not when I have to face my family. My family lives in denial of their shortcomings. Mom’s the worst and makes excuses for herself and me. My addiction to pain meds was because the doctors weren’t doing their job. Her inability to pay for her bar tab is because other people keep charging their drinks to her. I’m the reason we had to leave Grand Rapids and move to Detroit.

At the very least, being in my uncle’s bar will be the perfect test of my sobriety. It makes me angry that my own mother can’t support me and is more concerned about saving face to people who would walk past her if she caught on fire.

“I’m not straight,” I blurt out, tired of hiding and playing games.

Lars’s eyes widen into two oceans, deep and stormy. He grips the wheel, knuckles turning white, and swallows hard. He keeps his eyes on the busy traffic, not sparing me a glance, and it would hurt less if he’d stabbed me.

“I’m grateful you trust me with that. Do you want to talk about it?” He delivers the words as if we’re talking about where to eat once we land in Detroit.

“No.” I stare unseeing out the window. Expecting more seems selfish. But part of me hoped he would tell me he’s into me. Even though that isn’t Lars, I let myself dream because he’s different with me. More open and affectionate, and maybe my confession is a means to get more of that from him. Maybe I’m no better than my mother.

My intention isn’t to blackmail him emotionally into discussing his feelings, but I’m sure my mom doesn’t think she’s doing something wrong either.

I don’t deserve someone as kind and supportive as Lars. I come from a lying, manipulative family, and that’s who I am.

We’re quiet until the car stops in our regular spot in the airport parking lot. Gusts of chilly wind penetrate my coat and sting my nose as we walk to the terminal. We’re polite to each other and act as if nothing happened.

I’m sick to my stomach.

We hang out with bi and gay people all the time. Jayce’s boyfriend had the nasal spray that saved my life.

Lars has no problem with men loving men, but an invisible wall has gone up between us and it hurts too much to tear it down.

Once we settle in our seats, Finn boards and claps his hands. “Listen up, my hunks of hockey gods,” he bellows, and I wonder if he’d speak so freely if HR were onboard. “We have a great opportunity at tonight’s game to take part in a charity event. It’s WCHL. The wheelchair hockey league is holding signups before and after our game. The team wants five players there and,” he scans the aisles until he sees me, “the hometown hero, Lucky, is being voluntold as a participant. The local media is expecting you.” He pins me with his stare and calls out a rookie from the University of Michigan who also has to attend.

“We need three others. This is grade school rules. Raise your hands, or I will pick.” Finn flourishes his wrist, waiting for volunteers. Lars raises his hand, along with six other people. Finn hands us packets with instructions, but Lars isn’t chosen to attend the event.

“I can stay and keep you company.” Lars leans in to read my packet.

“Nah, it seems like the team wants the midwestern players. You don’t fit that mold.” I tuck the packet into my travel bag to read later at the hotel and put my earphones in. There isn’t a way for me to deny I’m not straight, but I can downplay it later.

Then a positive thought pops up, and a smile spreads across my face as I dig my phone out of my suit pocket. “Dear mother,” I say out loud as I text, but I don’t actually write what I’m saying. “Thank you for your very generous invitation. It is with deep regret I have to inform you the team requires mypresence at a charity event and I must decline.” My speech is as if I’m an Englishman from the 1800s. “Best regards, your son Dylon.”

Lars shakes with laughter, and a few other guys chuckle.

“Lucky’s got his fancy pants on today,” Ace teases.

“My pants are always fancy,” I say in my fake English accent, ending with a high-pitched giggle. I turn my phone off to avoid reading the barrage of angry texts from my mom. She’ll start by asking nicely if I can switch with someone until she devolves into her standard insults that I’m an ungrateful snob. As if I didn’t pay off my parents’ mortgage. I should’ve bought them a mansion for their sacrifices. Meanwhile, most of my hockey expenses were paid for with scholarships granted by my club team, and I worked to pay the rest.

Lars and my sponsor think I should go no contact, but I’m not that guy. I’m the chill guy who lets nothing bother him, so can’t I be the guy who cuts his parents out of his life. My dad supports my mom with his silence, and I understand he has to live with her. My sister thinks whatever my mom tells her to think. But for once, I’d love it if someone in my family stood up for me.

Lars’s shoulder presses into mine, and I pray I didn’t fuck up our relationship. I should never have blurted that out while I’m upset about my family. I’ll have to fix it with him.

Chapter 12

Lars

The dishes clink in the crowded restaurant, and the team’s quiet. Ace had the foresight to reserve a private room so we can avoid taunts from Detroit’s hockey fans. Although I’m not sure the rowdy fans go for fine dining after a game. I’m not a talkative guy, and I miss Dylon’s constant stream of thought. Even Caleb, who can’t keep his mouth shut, has his eyes on his plate as he shovels his dinner in his face.

It was our worst performance as a team since we lost both Dylon and Liska last season. Everyone had an off game, and Detroit took advantage. It adds to my fear that a personal relationship between Dylon and me will affect the team. But we played on the same level as the rest of the team—sloppy and careless with the puck. Liska had a few incredible saves but also let in more goals than his average.

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